


And They Say Our Time Will Come

by ghostwriterofthemachine



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Minecraft, Bullying, Class Differences, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fluff and Angst, Forced Assimilation, Gen, Gods and Goddesses, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Minecraft Kings, Non-Linear Narrative, Older!B-Team, Older!Jeremy, Orphans, Protectiveness, Revolutionaries, Worldbuilding, off-screen violence, slight child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterofthemachine/pseuds/ghostwriterofthemachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kingdom has fallen, the nobles are slain, the enemy has won. </p>
<p>The children have fled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jeremy and Gavin, part 1

Behind him, the city burned. The castle was nothing but a flickering, dancing red shape rising over the trees. Almost beautiful.

 

The man fled through the woods as though he were still close enough to feel the heat on the flames on his back. His grey cloak was pulled tight around him, the hood up and shading his face. His arms were tucked into his chest, cradling something that was hidden by his body and covered with the cloak.

 

Behind him, his home was burning. The kingdom he served was falling. His closest friends were scattered, missing, maybe dead. The solider in him screamed to go back.

 

He hitched the thing in his arms closer and pressed on. Told himself that the burning in his eyes was from the smoke. There would be time to mourn later. He had a mission to complete. He had-

 

The wind caught the ends of the cloak and blew it back. The bundle the man was holding squirmed and whimpered as the cold caught its face. The man paused to carefully wrap them both in the fabric again.

 

“Shh,” he soothed, bouncing the thing the way he had seen mothers do and trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Shh, you must be quiet little one, tonight is not a good night for noises. Shhh…”

 

At the sound of his voice and with the return of the cloak's warmth, the bundle became still and silent again. The man let out a breath of relief. “There’s a good lad,” he murmured. He took a moment of silence to catch his breath, focused on the feeling of cool air in his lungs.

 

The _twang!_ of the arrow as it struck the tree to his right was enough to erase any other thoughts of rest from the man’s head. He took off running again, and he didn’t look back once.

 

Sometime later, he reached a cliff face dotted with small caves. The air smelled like rain and cold, and the glow of the burning city was no longer even a glimmer on the horizon. The man stopped and listened for anything that could be the sound of another human, any kind of indication that their enemies had pursued them.

 

There was nothing other than the sounds of a forest at night. The man stumbled into one of the caves and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

 

The silence of the cave was much purer than the silence outside. In this dim quiet, he could clearly hear the soft breaths of the burden he had carried all this way.

 

The child was achingly young. He knew only the simplest words, took the faltering, stumbling steps of a creature not used to their own legs. His hair was baby-fine and blonde and fanned over his face like a wing. His nose sat too-large on his tiny face. He was dressed in rich, warm clothes full of vibrant colors and furs.

 

His name was Gavin, and he was not yet three.

 

This little boy, Gavin, was the only one in the entire kingdom that the solider was sure was still alive. His job had been to grab the little one and run, and he had no time for hesitation. He wondered if the other children had gotten out of the burning city. He wondered if Matt had.

 

Cold grief hit him for the first time, as well as helplessness and a deep, primal kind of panic and rage.

 

The child on his lap stirred, and blinked luminescent green eyes drowsily up at him.

 

“Jay?” he murmured sleepily, “Jay?”

 

“Yes, little one,” the man responded, “it’s me.”

 

It was just the two of them, now. A Prince and his faithful bodyguard.

 

“Jay!” The boy sighed contentedly and snuggled back down in his blankets, before his face creased in worry. “Mama?” he asked, “Da?”

 

The man ran his hand through Gavin’s hair. “They’re not here right now, little prince, but don’t worry. Everything’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

 

The child made a questioning noise, but already his eyes were floating closed once more. The man continued speaking passed the lump in his throat. The kid looked so god-damned innocent, peaceful. Ignorant of the carnage they left behind them.

 

“Hush now, darling. Shh. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.”

 

There would be time, tomorrow, to explain, and to plan, and to move, and to grieve. But tonight, Gavin’s bodyguard would sooth him to sleep.

 

“Hush, little prince. Everything will be fine, I swear it. Jeremy’s got you. Jeremy’s got you.”


	2. Jeremy and Gavin, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prince would never hide in the guise of a common servant.

The woman was older, well into middle age, and had the air of a stern mother about her. She was pretty on par with the image Jeremy had in his head of what the Head Housekeeper of Royal’s castle should look like. In front of her, he felt like he was all of 7 years old.

 

She squinted her eyes at him critically. “You had experience with this kind of labor before?”

 

Jeremy nodded. As he spoke, he consciously thickened the peasant accent he had worked so hard to lose when he had begun to work at Ramsey castle, lengthening his _A_ s, adding an r in some places and dropping it in others. It wasn’t the same accent as the peasants in this kingdom, which was heavier and more lilting, but it shared some similarities.

 

“Farm work, mostly. Grew up working my family’s land. I’m use to that kind of labor, and I can cook and clean as well as the next guy.”

 

“Hum.” She ran her eyes over him, taking in his short stature and the muscles on his arms. Then her eyes slid to his right, and he felt Gavin’s tiny hand tighten on his own as she stared. “And the tyke?”

 

“He’s a fast learner.” Jeremy squeezed his hand back and let the kid hide behind his leg while he lied on the spot. “He was too young to do much other some light kitchen work back home, but he’s growing like a weed, ya’know? He’s a bright kid.”

 

The woman hummed again. She met Jeremy’s eyes again, suspicious this time. “Is he yours?”

 

“My..” Jeremy started incredulously, before laughing awkwardly. Of course. Someone of his age traveling with a young child wasn’t exactly the norm. And, at 19, it wouldn’t be unheard of for him to have a child out of wedlock. But there was too much scandal in that kind of cover story, so he continued, “No, no, we’re brothers.”

 

“Don’t look much alike.”

 

“Stepbrothers. My Pa married his Mam when he was still tiny.”

 

“And you left your poor Pa to run a farm without his sons?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

 

Jeremy let his shoulders sink in and he shrunk into himself. He rubbed his one arm with the other one and bit his lip, tried to project as much hesitation and unease as he could.

 

“Just because he was our Pa,” he said haltingly, and silently thanked Caleb for his acting lessons, “doesn’t mean he was a good man, you know?” Then he brushed his fingers over his right cheekbone, where a fading black bruise ringed his eye. A souvenir from an enemy solider, not a violent father, but already he could see the woman’s face melting with compassion.

 

“Well, I see not reason why you wouldn’t be just fine working here.” The woman said, the smallest smile pulling on her lips. “You’ll be doing work in the kitchen and the stables, maybe the gardens if we need more help there. Maybe pick up some valet work for Masters Sonntag, Willems, or Rubin, if they need it. The boy can help where he can until he’s a bit bigger. We’ll work you hard, but you’ll have board here, and we’ll feed you. Sound alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Jeremy nodded thankfully, squeezing Gavin’s hand in his again. “Sounds great, thank you so much.”

 

“I’ll have a girl take you to your room so you can settle. You start work tomorrow.” She inclined her head at him. “My name’s Sybil, and I run this household. If you have any problems, you come to me.”

 

“Yes, alright. Thank you again, Ma’am. This means more than you can possibly know.”

 

(.)

 

The room was small and built for function. There was a cot in one corner with a trundle bed underneath, a small dresser, and a bowl for washing up. The floors and walls were rough wood. It was nicer than the orphanage Jeremy had grown up in, nicer than a soldier’s barracks.  In a room like this, Gavin looked every bit the peasant Jeremy had to pass him off as.

 

The child’s finery had been switched out for rough brown pants and a spun shirt a shade lighter. Jeremy had stolen them off the washing lines of a house they had passed one night. He felt guilty for that, but he had left Gavin’s old velvet trousers and coat on the line in their place. Hopefully the family would have the mind to sell them to buy new clothes.

 

He perched on the cot, his little legs swinging, and nothing about him indicated that he was Gavin of House Ramsey, younger half-brother of the Heir, High Prince Geoffrey, and second in line for the throne.

 

He wondered what King Kovic would think of one of the princes of a fallen kingdom hiding directly under his nose. Not that he would think to look. No one would think to look. Jeremy was counting on it. 

 

A prince would never hide in the guise of a common servant.

 

Jeremy set his pack heavily down on the dresser, suddenly exhausted. Gavin looked up at him with large, unusually solemn eyes.  

 

“Jay?” he asked.

 

“Yeah Gav?”

 

“Where’s Mama and Da? A-And Geo-fee, and Rye-Bread, and Mich-coo, and Jack, and Trevor and Matt and Kdin and- Why aren’t they here?”

 

Jeremy stared. “I-“ he swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut for a long beat. How do you answer a question like that to a child so young? In the end, he settles for half the truth.

 

“I don’t know, Gavin. I don’t know where they are, but we can hope really hard that they’re safe, alright?”

 

“Will that help them?”

 

“Yeah, buddy. I bet that’ll help a lot.”

 

Gavin looked up at him, still so solemn and serious and everything Gavin usually wasn’t, and nodded. “Okay,” he said easily. And his face split into a bright grin. “I’ll help them until they’re back again!”

 

Jeremy made the decision right there to keep that grin in place as much as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get at least one or more chapters out a week, but I am a college student and shit happens. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. We should be seeing more characters soon!


	3. Jeremy and Gavin, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy is a good servant. Lord Greene is a good man. Gavin is a little boy. Lord Rubin acts like one, sometimes.

“Jeremy, you are the Gods gift to this world, and that’s not an exaggeration.”

 

“It’s not an exaggeration?” Jeremy smiled as Lord Greene closed his hands around the cup of tea he had just been handed and inhaled the steam. He took a long swallow of it, let out a breath, handed the cup back to Jeremy, and smiled back.

 

“Not even a little bit. You’re the best thing that’s happened to this castle in years.”

 

“Due respect, My Lord,” said Jeremy, “but I’ve _been_ working in this castle for years.” Five years, to be specific.

 

Lord Greene waved his hand vaguely. “Well, you should have been around _me_ for more of that, not playing fetch for Lawrence and his tinkering habit. And for fucks sake, call me Bruce.”

 

Jeremy laughed. He turned away from the lord and began to walk around the room, lighting candles now that the sun was too high to throw light into the room. “I’ll tell Lord Sonntag you called it that.”

 

Lord Greene pointed a jokingly warning finger at him and winked. He looked back down at the now-illuminated finances he’d been working on all morning and grimaced.

 

“Is there enough light, Lord Bruce?” Jeremy asked, “I can bring more candles if there isn’t.”

 

“No, no, plenty on light.” Bruce rested the tip of his pen on his chin. “Not enough good news, is the problem.”

 

“Did something happen?”

 

“Nothing recently.” He absent-mindedly allowed Jeremy to take the empty tea-cup back. “Do you remember when the Ramsey Dynasty fell in the Achievidos Kingdom, a handful of years back?”

 

Were he paying more attention, Bruce might have noticed Jeremy stiffen, ever-so-slightly. “Yes sir, more or less. I wasn’t working here when it happened, but people spoke about it. Gossip and the like.” He paused, eyes fixed on the cup in his hands, and swallowed as if the words burned like poison. “I always figured the brutality of it was exaggerated to frighten children.”

 

“Unfortunately not. The invaders set fire to the town, slaughtered the nobles and anyone who stood in their way. As far as we know, not even the children got out alive.” Bruce glanced to the side, noticing Jeremy’s discomfort. “You have a little one, don’t you?”

 

“Ah- No sir, not as such. A brother. Just about eight now.”

 

Bruce hummed, taking that as an explanation for the servant’s squeamishness in the face of the talk, and continued. “Achievidos was one of our main trading partners, before they were invaded. Our economy leaned on them far more than I should have been comfortable with. Without them-“ Bruce sighed. “I’m not entirely sure we can give our people as much support as they deserve this winter.”

 

Jeremy bit his lip. “Then- and forgive me, sir, if I’m overstepping, but why didn’t you help them?”

 

“Why didn’t we-“ for a split second, Bruce almost looks angry, but it melts away as fast as it came. “No, there’s no way you could know why. It’s a valid question.” He places his pen down on the desk. “Our hands were tied. Still are, technically. The invaders are allied with the kingdom on the other side of us, to the North. If we had tried to help, we would’ve been swarmed by an army we couldn’t defend against. We couldn’t even offer asylum to the nobles, had any of them gotten away. I wish we could have, but our people need to come first.”

 

“Yes, of course My Lord,” Jeremy hurried to say. “I should have never thought it was anything else. I didn’t mean to imply-“

 

“All is forgiven, if there was anything to forgive in the first place.” Bruce sighed and picked up his pen, once again turning his attention towards the finances. “Thank you for the tea, Jeremy. You may go.”

 

“Yes, Lord Bruce,” Jeremy said. “Will you be taking dinner with the rest of the Lords, or should I bring you up a trey later?”

 

“Hm?” Bruce didn’t glace up, already absorbed in the numbers once again. “Oh, yes, I’ll join them. If I don’t, James will jump down my throat about it. Let them know for me, will you?”

 

“Right away, sir,” Jeremy answered, and ducked out of the door of the study.

 

He no longer thought when he walked this castle: its layout had become as familiar to him as the habits of its inhabitants, or the hallways different castle he hadn’t seen in five years. He was snapped to attention suddenly by a shout of his name.

 

“Oi! Jeremy!”

 

Jeremy paused and looked over his shoulder. One of the older scullery maids was coming up behind him. “Yes?”

 

“Where’s your boy gone off to?”

 

Jeremy blinked, taken aback. “Gavin? He should be doing chores.”

 

“Yes, he should. But I’m up in the hallway with the guest rooms, and I find the bucket, but not the tot!”

 

“Oh.” Jeremy feels a cold dread spreading through him. “I’ll just find him then.”

 

“See that you do! And give the boy a talking to, for God’s sake, I know he’s still young but-“

 

“Yes, yes, I will,” Jeremy said, and than sped away as fast as he dared. Gavin was gone. No one knew where he was. Oh, Gods, _where was Gavin?_

 

His thoughts raced. He had been so careful, with their backstory, with their cover. There was nothing to indicate they weren’t who they said they were, right? There couldn’t be. Jeremy was the only one who knew.

 

Not even Gavin really remembered where he came from, anymore.

 

Jeremy’s legs took him back where he came, towards the wing the Lord’s inhabited, feeling the kind of panic he hadn’t experienced in years.

 

A high, childish laugh made him stop and stare at the half-open door to the library he was next to. Two voices, one cultured and high-class, the other with the lilting accent that peasants of this kingdom spoke with. Jeremy could hear more giggles, muffled voices, song:

 

“ _Some gave them white bread, and some gave them brown! Some gave them plum cake, and drummed them out of town!_ ”

 

Jeremy pushed the door open.

 

Lord Joel Rubin, one of the Lords of the Kingdom Fie-Hausus, know as one of the greatest scholars in the land, had his hands clutched in the grubby fingers a servant-boy. Both were laughing, cheeks flushed, as they sang like they were both Gavin’s age and Joel danced them around the room.

 

“ _A shoemaker makes shoes without leather, with four elements all together! Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and every customer takes two pairs!”_ Joel sang out to Gavin’s delight. As he watched, the tightness in Jeremy’s chest began to fall away.

 

The two suddenly became aware of their audience, and Gavin gave another squeal when he saw Jeremy.

 

“Jay!” He beamed, and ran to hug around Jeremy’s legs. The little boy was flushed and looked as pleased as when Sybil gave him sweets meant for the nobles. “Jay, listen, Mister Joel knows so many songs!”

 

Lord Rubin smiled at them both, barely noticing Jeremy’s look of bafflement. “Ah, Hello, Jeremy!” He greeted. “Is this your brother? Where have you been hiding this ray of sunshine, he’s a delightful child!”

 

“Th-Thank you, Lord Rubin.” Gavin froze slightly at the mention of the man’s title. He tugged on Jeremy’s pant leg, and Jeremy obligingly hoisted him up into his arms.

 

“He’s a Lord?” Gavin whispered into his ear. Jeremy nodded, and Gavin squeaked and ducked his head into Jeremy’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Jeremy said, “but Gavin here is supposed to be doing his chores. He left them unfinished and gave everyone a little bit of a scare.” Gavin shrunk deeper into Jeremy’s hold at that, his guilt evident by the coloring of his ears.

 

Lord Rubin’s face fell at the words. “Oh, don’t let him be in trouble, please. The two of us started singing, and I’m afraid that time got away from us!”

 

“Yes, My Lord, of course. But Gavin will have to come with me now, if that’s okay. Both of us still have work to do.” Rubin waved them off with another smile.

 

Jeremy began to leave the room, Gavin still in his arms, before he paused again.

 

“And Lord Greene says that he will be joining you for dinner tonight.”

 

“Bruce is tearing himself away from his numbers tonight? Why, it must be my birthday!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will most likely move on to focus on something a bit different. And thank you all for the feedback!


	4. Matt and Ryan, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn’t have time, Matt realized suddenly. No time to try and find the other children, or the other guards. They had to get out now, or they would not get out at all.

The castle was on fire.

 

Matthew Bragg noted this with the same vague detachment one might note the weather, or a very obvious fact: _it’s raining today, we are by the ocean, the castle is on fire_. There wasn’t time to think about it in any more depth, no time to consider what it meant for the future of everyone.

 

The heat bit at the ends of his cloak, would have caught it ablaze had he not been moving so swiftly. He moved against the tide of bodies- other soldiers, lesser nobles, servants- who were fleeing the castle or rushing to join the battle, as if it hadn’t already been lost. Matt pushed past them, heading deeper into the winding hallways.

 

The wing where the Nobles lived was eerily, unsettlingly silent. It was void of the usual everyday bustle of people working and children playing. It was void of the crash of swords and screams that echoed like nightmares through the rest of the castle.

 

The walls were splattered with blood.

 

_No_ , Matt thought, stopping just long enough to stare and process. _No, no, I can’t be too late. Please, I can’t be too late_.

 

The invaders had already been through.

 

He ran again, slamming doors open as he went. Trying not to flinch every time a new body was revealed. while also being relieved when it wasn’t one of his charges, or one of his friends. The nursery was blessedly empty of the dead, but also of the very thing he was searching for.

 

Finally, a door opened that made him grind to a halt and take a long moment to stare.

 

The bodies of the Lord and Lady Haywood were sprawled in the center of the room, bloody and dead. Matt took a step into the room, throat thick. They were good people, the two of them. Fantastic people. People who were good enough to let some scrawny orphan from a culture foreign to their own into their lives, and then around their child, because he was the one most qualified to teach the kid how to understand his powers. They had never made him feel isolated for his strange gods or customs. They had given him a home within the forces of Achievidos, gave him a place where he would find a new family.

 

Their son was his main charge. They had been his patrons. And they were dead.

 

Matt squeezed his eyes shut, whispered a prayer, and was turning around to continue his frantic search when a noise from across the room made him pause.

 

Something was shuffling around in the closet.

 

“Who’s there?” He called, his hand closing around the redstone-laced dagger at his belt. “Come out, or I’ll come to you, and I promise that way will hurt a hell of a lot more.”

 

Matt walked slowly towards the door, the dagger held strike-ready in front of him. He could hear breathing coming from the other side. In one motion, he raised his knife in preparation to kill and yanked the door open, preparing to swing down and-

 

“Oh, Gods. _Ryan_.”

 

For there, sitting on the floor of the dusty closet, staring up at him with glazed, unfocused eyes, dotted and streaked with blood that most definitely wasn’t his, was Matt’s charge.

 

“…Matt?” asked Ryan Haywood, his voice small lost and confused. “Matt, is that-“

 

“Hush, Master Ryan, I’m here.” Matt fell to his knees. He reached out a hand to the boy, hoping to take his hand and draw him out of the tiny room.

 

Ryan made the kind of noise of pure terror that should never, never be made by a child of eight. He curled into himself, and Matt could feel the power bubble up around him as he did. A glittering red force-field materialized itself around the boy.

 

“Sorry,” whimpered Ryan. He shivered as if alone in the cold of the mountains. “Sorry Matt, sorry, I don’t- I don’t know- I swear I didn’t kill them, Matt, I didn’t, I didn’t even kill the men who- Matt, you have to-“

 

“Shh,” Matt soothed. He reached into an inner pocket of his cloak and pulled out a small vial of powdered redstone. “Hush now, young Master. I know. You did nothing wrong, Ryan.” He shook a bit of the powder onto his palm and Willed it into a wide, thin circle. He infused it with a simple binding spell and gently slipped the improvised necklace over Ryan’s head.

 

A shock-y, terrorized child could not be expected to control their magic, espeshally a child as powerful as Ryan. The surges of power died away.

 

“On your feet now, come on.” Matt pulled the boy up to his feet. He swayed, disoriented, and when he stepped forward he moved more like a zombie than an eight-year-old boy. The guard positioned his body so the boy could not see the corpuses of his parents.

 

The noise from outside the room grew louder.

 

They didn’t have time, Matt realized suddenly. No time to try and find the other children, or the other guards (Trevor, Kdin, Jeremy, Gods, _Jeremy_ -). They had to get out now, or they would not get out at all.

 

Matt reached back into the closet and pulled out a simple, black traveling cloak, nearly identical to his own. He pulled the hood up to conceal Ryan’s blond hair and pale face.

 

“If we are stopped,” Matt said, fitting his hand into the Ryan’s and pulling his across the room, still blocking the view of the bodies, “you’re apprenticed to a baker, and that’s why your hands are so soft.”

 

Ryan nodded vaguely and, as they left the room, blinked as if walking into bright sunlight.

 

“Where are we going, Matt?” he asked, more coherent than Matt had seen him all night.

 

Matt pulled his own hood up to shadow his face, and squeezed the small hand in his.

 

“Away,” he answered, and the two took off running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for your wonderful feedback :D


	5. Jeremy and Gavin, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children can be very cruel creatures.

Jeremy turned the soft leather boot over in his hands. His fingers smoothed over the ragged tear in the toe.

 

“I’m not sure if I can fix it,” he said, genuine regret in his voice. “I’m not sure if I _can_ be fixed, though you’d have to ask Sybil or Amelia to be sure. It’s definitely beyond my helping it, I’m sorry Sean.”

 

Sean Poole, a young man two years away from claiming his title as the 7th Lord of Fie- Hausus and the current Head Squire, moaned pitifully and placed his head in his hands.

 

“James is going to kill me. You realize that? This is the last time you’re ever going to see me alive, because James is going to kill me.”

 

Jeremy laughed. “I somehow doubt that.”

 

Sean, who was young, short, and painfully genuine, was doted on endlessly by the other Lords in a way that was only a little bit condescending. Sean was also doted on by pretty much all the servants and any older woman he had ever crossed paths with. Something about him elicited that sort of reaction.  

 

“I’d talk to Sybil before you start planning your funeral,” Jeremy continued. “Maybe she knows a good cobbler or something, who can guess with that woman? I’d-“

 

Before he could finish his sentence, the door to the stables burst open and a small figure stumbled in.

 

Gavin looked up at him, teary-eyed and red-faced. “J-Jeremy-“ he stuttered, then launched himself across the room. Jeremy dropped to his knee and caught the child in his arms.

 

Gavin sniffled into his shoulder, and Jeremy sent an apologetic look over to Sean. “Master Poole, I’m sorry, could I have moment please-“

 

Sean nodded quickly. “Of course, all the time you need, I believe you’ve helped all you could anyway! I’ll just go see Sybil about that cobbler, right?” He sent Jeremy a lopsided smile and slipped out of the stables.  Jeremy turned his attention back to Gavin.

 

“Hush now, Little Bit. What’s the matter? Why the tears?”

 

“They-They’re so- They’re so _mean_!” Gavin choked out, before dissolving into sobs once more. Jeremy sighed, before situating himself so he was seated more comfortably on a hay bale and Gavin was situated more comfortably on his lap.

 

“Who’s mean, Gav?”

 

“ _E-Everyone_. All the kids, the ones who p-play over by the stream, John and Lily and,” he continued, rattling off names of the children of servants and craftsman from town. “…And Harrison and…and… _Everyone!_ ” Gavin wails, tripping over the consonants of the words. It would always be strange, Jeremy thought, to hear the accent of a peasant from Fie-Hauses come out of the mouth of a boy who was meant to be the prince of Achievidos.

 

Jeremy runs a soothing hand down Gavin’s back and asks, “How were they mean?”

 

“T-They…They said I was a _bastard_ ,” and Jeremy’s blood ran cold at the word, and how Gavin’s voice cracked around it.  “Or that…That my father didn’t love me enough to keep me, and that my mother must have been a whore, but that’s just not true, right Jeremy? And I told them that, but they didn’t listen to me, they just kept _laughing_ , and-“ this seemed to be the end of what Gavin could vocalize, because he broke off and hiccupped into the fabric of Jeremy’s shirt.

 

Jeremy felt his heart twist with something like hate, which was ridiculous, because that feeling would be directed at children who didn’t know any better. He had grown up in an orphanage- he knew the cruelty of children and he knew how much it could sting. He wrapped his arms around Gavin and squeezed.

 

“That isn’t true at all, Gavin. Not even a little bit, and they had no right to say that to you.”

 

“B-But…But Jeremy,” Gavin looked up at him with watery green eyes. “How do I know? How do I _know_ that’s not true? B-Because I don’t…I don’t remember them at all, do I? So how do I know for sure?”

 

Jeremy felt his eyes burn. The King and Queen of Achievidos had been the kind of people who took their sons out for walks in the garden after dinner. The Queen had refused a wet nurse when Gavin was a very small infant and, though the older prince was not hers by blood, she took time every week to teach him music. High Prince Geoffrey had looked at his younger brother as if he had not just hung the moon, but invented it.  

 

Gavin had been so very little when his home had burned. Jeremy had always wondered how much of that life the boy remembered.

 

Apparently, almost nothing.

 

“You listen to me right now, understand?” Jeremy locked his gaze with the child’s red-rimmed eyes. “Your parents loved you. Your mother loved you, and your father loved you. They were both good, honorable people who put the good of others before themselves. You were not born out of wedlock, your mother was not a prostitute, and, had they a choice, they would not have given you up. Don’t you believe anyone who tells you otherwise.”

 

Gavin sniffed and rubbed at his nose with his wrist. “And you’re my brother, right Jeremy?”

 

“Not by blood,” Jeremy said, because that suddenly seemed an important distinction to make, “but yes. I’m your brother.” He smiled.

 

Gavin smiled back, before tucking his face into Jeremy’s shirt once again.

 

“I don’t want to play with those kids, anymore.”

 

Jeremy hummed. The air smelled of hay and horses and summer twilight. He had no more duties to complete for at least an hour.

 

“Tell me a story,” Gavin murmured.

 

“Alright." Jeremy said, running his hand over Gavin's back again. "Which one, the Creeper’s King or the Brown Man?”

 

“The Creeper’s King.”

 

“Good choice, Gav.”

 

Jeremy told him the story until all the glassiness had faded from his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gavin was a few months short of 3 when the kingdom fell. He has memories of the place, but they're all so hazy and so different from the life he's currently living that he writes it off to a dream, or, later in life, a childish fantasy. 
> 
> I'm hoping to have another chapter up this weekend.
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback!


	6. Kdin and Jack, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They lived in the lion's mouth, but Kdin did everything he could to protect his charge despite that.

A boy sat on the window seat of a high, arched window, a large book perched on his knees. The overcast sky outside through enough light on the page to read by, as not a candle was lit in the cramped library.  The boy thumbed his glasses higher onto his nose, squinting in the dimness as he turned the dusty page. He was young, no older than 12 or 13, and his pale red hair dusted onto his forehead. Other than soft breathing and the wind through the turrets, the silence of the room was absolute. The boy was so absorbed in his reading that a disturbance in that silence, the door swinging open, went completely unnoticed.

 

The bark of an angry, commanding voice did not.

 

“Jelka!”

 

The boy jumped violently, springing to his feet and pushing the book behind him, hiding it with his body. The man in front of him was tall, thin, sallow and familiar. The boy dropped his eyes to the ground and clasped his hands behind his back.  

 

“C-Councilman Kaloro, I didn’t hear you-“

 

“You are not allowed to be in here, _boy_ , or had we not made that very clear?” The man took a threatening step forward and the child coward back, cornered. “What are you hiding?”

 

“N-Nothing, just a book, I was just-“

 

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” said the Councilman, voice deadly soft, “that the books in this room are outlawed, by order of our King of Achievidos.”

 

The child swallowed thickly. “I just-“

 

“ _Do I need to remind you of that?_ ”

 

“I just wanted something to read!” he cried, “And it’s here, why shouldn’t I read it? I doesn’t belong to you-“

 

Kaloro lunged forward and grabbed the boy’s upper arms, squeezing it in an iron grip. The boy winced and tried to pull away, but Kaloro was stronger.

 

“Technically,” the Councilman hissed, his foul breath stinging, “ _you_ don’t belong here, either. You are kept here as a formality to pacify idiotic peasants, and all it would take is one conversation with the king for you to be _thrown to the dogs_. Learn some respect, you rotting piece of-”

 

“Kaloro,” said another voice, deadly calm, from behind him. “Kaloro, I know your hands aren’t on my charge right now. I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that.”

 

Kaloro froze for a split second, before releasing the boy’s arm with a grunt of disgust and pushing him backwards. He stumbled and nearly fell as the Councilman straightened up and turned around.

 

“Jenzen,” Kaloro sneered at the other man.

 

Kdin Jenzen said nothing, offering only a stare of the most controlled kind of rage as he strode forward and stepped cleanly between his charge and the man. The hem of his inky-black hooded cassock swept across the floor.

 

“You do not touch him,” said Kdin in a voice that held no arguments. “You do not touch him ever, that’s part of the rules, _Councilman_.”

 

From the look on Kaloro’s face, he had to physically restrain himself from spitting in Kidn’s face. “Don’t you talk like you have any power in this situation, Jenzen. You have none, and it would do you some good to remember that.”

 

“No power?” Kdin chuckled coldly. “I think you misunderstand, Kaloro. There has never been a dynasty in Achievidos without a Pattillo as part of it.” His hand landed lightly on the shoulder of the boy behind him. “Without us here, the commoners would rise, and your king knows it.”

 

“There’s that high horse again,” Kaloro tutted condescendingly, shaking his head. “If you think you and your _charge_ are anything more than hostages for the public’s cooperation, or that you have any leverage with which to leave, you are delusional. Understand your place, you scale-worshiping _fuck_.”

 

Kdin’s hand went up to touch the black stone pendent that hung around his neck, but his face did not change. “Keep my faith out of this,” he said softly, “and keep your filthy hands off my charge.”

 

This time, Kaloro did spit, but at Kdin’s feet. Than he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. As soon as he was out the door, Kdin turned his attention to the boy behind him.

 

“Are you alright, Jack?” he asked, worry creasing his brow.

 

“Shh!” Jack’s eyes snapped to the door, and the fear on his face at the sound of his birthname only made Kdin’s hate grow. “He might here you.”

 

“I don’t care, let him. I will not call you by that bastardization of your name.” _Jelka_ not only stripped Jack of one the only gifts he still had from his parents, it was also diminutive and feminine in the language of the Conquerors. A humiliation disguised as a name. Teeth gritted, Kdin continued, “did he hurt you?”

 

“No,” muttered Jack, rubbing at his shoulder, “Not really. Scared me, I guess.”

 

Kdin nodded. He glanced around the room. “What were you doing in here? These are forbidden books, you know that. It’s not like you to go looking for trouble.”

 

Jack glanced behind him to the window seat, guilt in his eyes. Kdin followed his gaze and found the book Jack had been reading when Kaloro found him. It was a collection of social and economic policies the Ramsay Dynasty had been credited for implementing. A history of the Nobles of Achievidos working to make the land a place a peace, and banned from the main library for daring to remember history that didn’t include the land’s new masters.

 

 Kdin’s eyes softened. He draped an arm around Jack, saying, “Next time you want this kind of reading, let me know, alright? I’ll help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found the practice of renaming someone fascinating, especially in the context of forced assimilation. Jack was about 10 at the time of kingdom's downfall, this takes place about two years after that. 
> 
> Your feedback keeps me going!


	7. Matt and Ryan, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith is important.

Life in a Caravan offered little free time for things such as faith. Most of the people who rode with them either casually practiced Common, or declared their only belief to be in Human forces that could be seen. Matt had respect for all of them, understood how people with no concrete home could turn to Godlessness. He just wasn’t one of them.

 

He had held onto this when serving in Achievidos, and he would hold onto it here. It was good for his magic, nourishing to his soul or something, he guessed. It helped him hold on to a tribe long-dead.

 

Ryan was off with the some other kids his own age, probably learning something new for an upcoming performance, or relaxing after his lessons with Matt earlier. The wagon the two of them shared was empty, save for Matt himself, as he stooped down to place a candle on the floor. It rested at his feet, just off of the oval carpet.

 

Matt took a deep breath through his nose. He bowed to each of the cardinal directions, a different hand sign for each one, before kneeling in front of the candle. He passed his hand over it, counterclockwise, three times before lighting it with a click of his fingers. Matt stared at the flame for a long second before letting his eyes fall closed. He let the feel of the universe’s energy slip through him, becoming a part of its circuit, his very body becoming like the redstone he used to Channel. His mouth moved silently over the words of a memorized chant as he sank deeper into Trance.

 

It was hard to keep track of time like that, so Matt wasn’t sure how long it was before he felt another presence in the room. His eyes flickered open.

 

Ryan stood at the door of their wagon, looking at him with a tilted head and curious eyes. Matt shook his head to clear it.

 

“Oh, hello Ryan,” he said, quickly passing his hand another three times over the candle, this time clockwise, and snuffed the flame out. “I didn’t hear you come in, I’m sorry.” He glanced out the window. “I would have thought you would be playing until dinner, is everything alright?”  

 

Ryan shrugged. “Meg got tired, and then I felt magic coming from here.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “What were you doing, Matt?

 

Matt raised his eyebrows. “You felt that magic before you came into this room?”

 

Ryan nodded absently. “Yeah.”  

 

Matt should have stopped being surprised by the kid’s power at this point. Just last week, a nightmare that had sent him screaming into the world of the waking had also blown out the windows in four of the Caravan’s wagons.

 

“Were you doing magic?” Ryan walked further in the room and sat on the floor next to him. He reached out and touched the hot wax with his fingers.

 

“No, not magic exactly.” Matt batted his hand away from the wax. “Don’t do that, you’ll burn yourself.”

 

Ryan wrinkled his nose. “Not magic _exactly_?”

 

“I was sitting Ritual,” said Matt, “which is more like praying than magic.”

 

“Preying?”

 

“Yeah, you-“ Matt strained to remember the words his mother had used to explain it to him when he was a child. “You connect back with magic at its most base form. The idea is to rejoin the elements and, in that, thank them for all they do for us. Something like that.”

 

Ryan squinted up at him. “Do the elements need thanking?”

 

“In my beliefs, yes.” Matt moved to put the candle away, only to be stopped by Ryan’s small, dusty hand on his wrist.

 

“Teach me?” he asked, a look of rapt fascination on his face.

 

Matt knew he shouldn’t. There was a difference between a common solider practicing a barbarian religion and a Noble practicing it. He should tell Ryan to find someone to teach him about the gods of the Common religion, if he felt the call to faith. Jeremy had sworn by them. Or perhaps introduce the child to the Cult of Ender, which Kdin had favored, and was known for its influence, mysticism, and demand for respect. The boy in front of him could still one day help rule a people who rejected the idea of this kind of worship.

 

But Ryan was looking at him with such hope, eager to learn. Redstone dust stained the tips of the boy’s fingers, just as it did Matt’s. Bits of his hair were twisted into the same braids that decorated Matt’s. His clothes were overlarge and ill-fitting, his face tanned.

 

It would be so good for his magic. It would do wonders for the boy’s slipping control, maybe something that could help to heal his fractured mind.

 

Matt made a choice.

 

“We start by bowing,” he said, placing the candle back down and helping Ryan to his feet, “once in each of the cardinal directions. North is for Obsidian, so we do this with our hands, right, just like that. South is for Water, so we do this-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a little bit of a world-building kink. Call it a character flaw. 
> 
> Basically, in my mind, the Common religion is the most practiced in Achievidos and Fie-Hauses, and is comparable to the Greek or Roman pantheon of Gods/Goddesses. The Cult of Ender is kind of like core Judaeo-Christian beliefs (as in, only one god. That god is just a dragon) meets the Illuminati, so they command a lot of respect/fear and people believe they have their fingers in more pies than they're telling. Matt practices some kind of cross between Buddhism and Shamanistic element worship. I dunno man I really enjoy coming up with fictional religions. 
> 
> Earliest update yet! Thank you, as always, for the feedback :D


	8. Trevor and Geoff, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor does his best, but Geoff is a teenager and Burnie is persuasive.

“No. No, absolutely not, it is completely out of the question.”

 

“Come on Collins,” the other man wheedled, leaning forward with wide, earnest eyes. Back in the days of the court, Burnie Burns had been known as one of the most easily likable men to ever grace the walls Achievidos. He was effortlessly charismatic, the kind of natural leader that literal kings wished they were born as, and barely a day went by in which Trevor wasn’t damn glad that he was on their side.

 

Now was not one of those times.

 

Burnie continued. “It would be so good for the moral of the people, you have no idea what the idea of him even being _alive_ could accomplish! Trevor, I’m telling you-“

 

“And I’m telling _you_ ,” Trevor interrupted, “that the answer is no.”

 

“He won’t even be in that much danger!” Burnie said, his tone bordering on exasperated. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here, you need to think of-“

 

“No, fuck you, absolutely _fucking_ not,” Trevor snapped. Burnie did a double take. Back before the fall, Trevor had been known as one the most proper and soft-spoken of the children’s Protectors, the one with the most knowledge of decorum. He was the eighth son of a very minor Noble, as opposed to the war orphans and cultists who made up the rest, and he spoke and acted like it even now. An outburst like that was incredibly out of character.

 

Trevor lowered his voice as he went on. “He’s a kid, he’s just a child, and he’s been through more in these past few months than anyone his age has the right to go through. The reason I agreed to stay here with your little rebellion and not go deeper into hiding is because you promised you’d put Geoff’s safety first. Don’t break that promise so soon.”

 

“Don’t you tell me I don’t have the kid’s best interests at heart!” Burnie shot back. “But I have to consider the best interests of the kingdom as well! _The people need to know their prince is alive and free._ ”

 

“The Prince doesn’t need to be put in any more danger! We don’t need to broadcast to the Conquers where he is!”

 

“Trevor-“

 

“The answer is no, Burns!”

 

“I want to do it.”

 

The third voice sent both men turning towards the doorway. The High Prince Geoffrey stood there, leaning on the door jam, his face set as only as 13 year olds face could be.

 

“I want to help,” he said to Burnie. “Will it help kick those men out of the kingdom?”

 

Burnie took a step forward and nodded. “Not right away, but it might push us in the right direction.”

 

Geoff nodded back. “Than I’m doing it,” he said seriously.

 

“No, Geoff,” said Trevor. “you’re not.”

 

Geoff glared. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

 

“It is my job to protect you, so yes, I can tell you what to do.”

 

“Some job you’re doing!” Geoff cried, “You couldn’t save my b-brother, could you? You couldn’t save my Mom or my Dad, you couldn’t save Ryan or Michael, you can’t save Jack! Some fucking help you are!”

 

There was a long silence. Burnie, wisely, took a step back. Trevor’s eyes were closed, his face twisted with something unpleasant.

 

“I know you’re hurting, Geoff,” he said quietly. “And I don’t blame you for hurting. You’ve been through a lot. You’ve lost…You’ve lost so much. But don’t think I haven’t lost things as well.” He walked over to Geoff and put both his hands of both his shoulders, bending down so they made eye contact.

 

“I lost my family too. Both of my families. And yes, I failed every charge I had except for you, and that is my burden to bear. But that doesn’t mean that I am going to let you put yourself in a situation that will get you hurt. None of that means my job has changed.”  

 

Geoff exhaled through his nose and sharply turned his head away, but not before Trevor could see how damp his eyes had gotten.

 

“I just want to help,” Geoff muttered thickly. “There has to be something I can do to help.”

 

Trevor stared at him for another long moment, before he pulled back and sighed.

 

“We’ll compromise, okay?” he said, equally to Burnie as to Geoff. “We’ll figure out some kind of compromise. We’ll figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really fun to write teen!Geoff, as well as charismatic revolutionary!Burnie. 
> 
> Your feedback, as always, keeps me going!


	9. Michael, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael might not know where he came from, but he knew what he hated.

It was hard, not knowing where you come from.

 

This was a truth Michael had come to accept at a young age. The other kids in the orphanage held their heritage like a shield: it didn’t matter if they were there alone, because their parents were part of tribe whatever or house who-the-fuck-cares or that they came from a line of blacksmiths. Like knowing that somehow lessened the fact that they were all war orphans in a place where the bad guys won the war.

 

Michael didn’t know where he came from. He had been found as a child next to the dead body of a mousey looking man, from what people told him. There had been nothing that could have identified them on either of them, and Michael had been too young and too shaken to remember anything other than his name. His memories from before the orphanage were hazy to point of obviously being fiction- he most certainly hadn’t lived in a place with golden ceilings that high.

 

So he didn’t know where he came from. The only clue he had was a carved wooden pendent in the shape of a bear. It was a fine thing, sure, but also a common enough symbol to be useless in a search.

 

The other kids mocked him about it, sometimes _. Little Michael, all alone, can’t even wander cause he can’t go home_.

 

That stopped real quick, once Michael learned to use his words. And his fists.

 

He was sitting under the big tree to the side of the orphanage, looking up and trying to figure out the fastest way to climb it. He wanted to be the first boy who ever got to the very top. Maybe he could see all the way to Capitol, up there.

 

He was distracted from this by another person throwing themselves down next to him, than slumping against his shoulder. Lindsay shoved half a chunk of bread into his hands.

 

“Look,” she said, “lunch.”

 

Michael took a bite and wrinkled his nose. “This lunch is shit.”

 

“Don’t let Matron hear you say that. She’ll have your tongue.”

 

“She knows this stuff is icky.”

 

“Not for the comment, for the _language, mister!_ ” The last two words were said in an imitation of the old woman’s voice.

 

Lindsay was another orphan. She kind of knew where she came from. She came from the South and from Traders, which meant a lot more to her than it did to Michael. Lindsay could be really annoying and she always beat him at checkers, but she was also his friend on account that one time he had punched Gregory in the face for her and she had punched him for punching Gregory. That made them friends by default.

 

They ate their lunches together under the tree. Then the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance,  

 

Or at least, at first Michael thought the noise he was hearing was thunder. But the sky was still as bright and clear as it had been seconds before. The answer to his unspoken question fell from Lindsay’s lips-

 

“Those are horses. A lot of horses.”

 

And, now that they were looking, they could see the banner of the Conquerors rising over the hill. Lindsay gasped quietly and looked at Michael. They were both gripped with the maybe-irrational drive to hide.

 

Michael moved first, clambering up the first few branches of the tree. He grabbed Lindsay’s hand and pulled her up as well, and together they got to a place in the tree where they could see everything, but could not be seen themselves.

 

The Knights of the Conqueror’s stopped in front of the orphanage. They were Lords, men of status, and from what they all were holding they were probably on their way to a hunt. One of the men dismounted his horse.

 

“Hey, Lady! Come out and greet us, we’re better to look at than all these forsaken trees!”

 

No one came out of the building.

 

“Hey! Come out now, Lady-of-the-House, or we’ll come in ourselves!”

 

It was another second before the Matron walked outside to meet them, her lips pulled up as if she tasted something sour.

 

“Yes?”

 

“We need food,” said the man who was off the horse. “You will offer us yours.”

 

“This is an orphanage,” said the Matron in a clipped tone, “not an inn.”

 

The man’s eye narrowed as the other Lords jeered. “Well, soon it won’t even be an orphanage, if you don’t offer us some common curtosey. One needs children to have an orphanage, correct?”

 

The Matron’s lips thinned.

 

“You’re just giving us what we’re owed, kind lady. Unless you’re not loyal to our king?” The man smiled unpleasantly.

 

The Matron stared at them for a long second, than looked at her feet. “Come in, then,” she said.

 

As all the Lords filed inside, laughing and cat-calling, Michael and Lindsay quietly slipped from their tree and slipped inside the entrance near the kitchen.

 

Michael spent the rest of the night watching, teeth gritted, as the Lords of the land ate the food that was meant to last them at least a week. They ate tonight’s supper and tomorrow’s breakfast, and then they ate more. They ordered the children around as if they were servants, and spoke to the Matron as if she were a whore. Everything they touched fell to a mess, ones worse than the toddlers could make.

 

When they left, much later that night, they took with them the Matron’s assistant, a delicate girl of about 17, who looked equal parts terrified and helpless. They left the orphanage with no food.

 

He hated them, Michael decided. He hated the rich, he hated those who ruled. People said the dynasty that ruled before this had been better, but he doubted it. Power led to men who stole food from children.

 

Royalty destroyed all it touched.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a late update, sorry all!
> 
> Well, now I've got all the boys introduced. I now want to know who you guys want to hear more about next. 
> 
> Gavin and Jeremy the servants? Matt and Ryan, traveling performers/merchants? Kdin and Jack, fighting their way through the worst kind of politics? Trevor and Geoff and the resistance? Michael in the orphanage?
> 
> Or something else. Want to hear more about the Lords of Fie-Hauses? Find out where Ray is in this universe? Next chapter is reader's choice, is what I'm saying. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for the feedback!


	10. The Legend of the Brownman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following is a myth of the Common Religion, often told as a children’s tale.

_The following is a myth of the Common Religion, often told as a children’s tale._

 

The Gods had only just finished making and populating the world. It was a time before the Creepers earned their Spark, and before the hottest lava had been trapped to form redstone. Humans had not yet learned to leave their villages, or do more than farm the most simple of crops.

 

During this before-time, a boy appeared.

 

He was without mother, father, or home. He appeared as if grown from the earth like sugarcane, a fully formed person with nut-brown skin and eyes. When he awoke for the first time, he found himself wondering about this. Then he laughed and decided to not let it bother him.

 

Because he was without a mother or a father, he gave himself a name. He figured he would need one. And, because he was like the sugarcane, he named himself after the sun that the sugarcane needed to grow. However, _Sun_ would imply he had a father, so instead he dubbed himself _Ray_. And the boy named Ray set out to seek his destiny.

 

He wandered for 12 days and 12 nights, until one night it started raining too hard to keep wandering. Ray wrinkled his nose at the sky, but found a cave to stay in for the night. He made a fire, then settled down to rest.

 

But the rain did not let up after one night, or even two. It was still storming too hard for travel. So Ray stayed in his cave shelter, but eventually the boredom began eating at him like rats ate at grain. The boy named Ray discovered he didn’t like boredom, not one bit. So, as the rain pounded outside, he invented a simple, rather tricky game played with sticks, twigs, and bits of stone. It was a game of speed and strategy and it delighted Ray, and he decided that it, too, needed a name. Ray only knew six letters, and three of them were his name, so he took the other three he knew and put them in different orders until he came up with the name ‘Cod.’

 

So the game was called Cod and the boy was named Ray, and he played Cod in the cave while the rain thundered outside. Then, when he got bored of the game, he used one stone to carve a target on the cave wall and threw rocks at the target. And when he was bored of that, he went back to Cod, and so on and so forth. By the time the rains passed in a week’s time, Ray knew all there was to know about his game, and was the best shot in the land.

 

He continued on his journey to seek his destiny. On his way there, he ran into the God of Invention, who was leaning over a spinning wheel, making fabric for a garment the likes of which Ray had never seen.

 

“Hello,” Ray greeted the God, “what are you making?”

 

The God glanced up at the nut-brown boy. “I am making a new way of dressing,” He said, “it will represent status and wealth. I call it a _suit_.”

 

Ray was fascinated by this. He stared at the garment, which consisted of a pair of fine pants, a pristine shirt, and a beautiful coat over it. He was enchanted by the way it looked, and by what it represented. He very much wanted to be rich and respected.

 

“Would you like to make a wager?” asked Ray to the God of Invention.

 

The God stared at him, unimpressed. “What sort of wager?” he asked.

 

“I’ve created a new game. We’ll play that, and if you win, you can take credit for inventing it. And if I win, I get to take that suit.”

 

The God considered it. Having the invention of a game on his name would gain him much respect, with both Gods and worshipers.

 

“Alright,” said the God of Invention.

 

Ray taught his how to play Cod, and the two of them sat down to play. Though the game went on for a hour or two, it was no real struggle for Ray to win it.

 

Absolutely delighted, Ray put on his new suit, which fit him perfectly. He looked fine in it, he thought admiringly. The God of Invention sat there, flabbergasted, as the boy began to leave.

 

“Wait!” he called, annoyed, to his retreating back. “Who are you, stranger?”

 

Ray considered answering truthfully for a moment, than reconsidered. Ray was a perfect name for a boy who grew as sugarcane did, but it was much too small for someone who had outwitted a _God_.

 

“I am the Brownman!” he shouted behind him, and then pranced forward on his journey with a laugh on his lips.

 

The next morning, he took up a stone and threw it hard at a rabbit, killing it instantly. He skinned the animal, kindled a fire, and began to cook it for his breakfast. As he began to eat, a woman rose up from the very ground he sat on.

 

It was the Goddess of Growing Things, and she spoke to Ray in a booming voice.

 

“You have violated sacred ground!” She cried, her eyes blazing. “You have killed an animal in my protected land, and you did not even give thanks to me! For this, you will die!”

 

But Ray quickly bowed to the Goddess, and spoke before she could strike him down.

 

“What if we play a game for my life, instead? A wager.”

 

The Goddess glared at him. “Tell me what sort of wager.”

 

“If you win,” said Ray, “not only can you kill me, but my spirit will serve you for all eternity. But if I win, you give me control of one of the things that are yours.” He glanced around for inspiration. “Roses. You give me control of roses.”

 

The Goddess thought about it. She could use a new servant, she thought, and this one was fine looking.

 

“Alright,” agreed the Goddess. “What are we playing?”

 

“It’s a game called Cod,” said Ray, with a smile, “have you heard of it?”

 

She had not heard of it, because of course she hadn’t, so Ray taught her the rules and they sat down to play.

 

He defeated her quickly, and she scowled as she transferred the power over the roses of the land to him. Ray felt it tingle though his fingers as it became a part of him.

 

With a large, satisfied smile, he grew a rose from the ground and presented it to the Goddess.

 

“I am the Brownman,” he said, a laugh on his voice, and he sprinted away from her.

 

So Ray traveled for a week or so, stopping in taverns and coaxing tavern girls into giving him free meals by presenting them with beautiful roses. He was by himself on a road between towns one day, when he was confronted by a lightning strike hitting the ground in front of him.

 

He jumped back and shielded his face, and when the smoke cleared, the God of All stood before him, glaring. The Goddess of Growing Things was his sister, and he was none-too-pleased with the disrespect this human had shown her.

 

“I will kill you,” boomed the God of All, “and returned the things you took!”

 

“But I didn’t take them,” argued Ray, “I won them, and it was fair.”

 

“No human can beat a God. You must have cheated.”

 

At those words, a plan started forming in Ray’s head. “Alight,” he said, “than you won’t mind playing a game with me. A wager.”

 

“Why would I do that?” asked the God of All.

 

“Well, if you win (and you obviously will, as you’ve said, a human cannot beat a god), you can do whatever you want with me, as opposed to just killing me. And if I win, and I won’t, you give me the power of a God. Because, by your logic, if I win fairly then I must be one.”

 

The God of All could not refuse this. His pride would not allow him to.

 

“I will allow it, human. What shall we play?”

 

“Have you ever heard of a game called Cod?”

 

The game was a long, hard one. It went on for three whole days and three whole nights, because Ray knew everything about the game, but the God of All knew everything about everything. People came to watch, as two masters of their craft went up against each other. Ray never thought it would be so hard to beat someone at something that he knew, in his heart of hearts, he was the best at.

 

On the dawn of the forth day, Ray won the game.

 

The God of All screamed in rage, but a deal was a deal. The power of the Gods descended upon Ray, on top of the gifts he had already won. With a whoop of elation, he took off into the air.

 

“I am the Brownman!” He called out, to the God of All and all the humans who had gathered. “I am the Brownman, and don’t you forget it!”

 

And he flew away on the Northern Wind, becoming the Patron God of Orphans and Gamblers and Those Who Love Games. He went on to have many, many more adventures.

 

But those are stories for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ray won last week's vote, and here's where he falls in this universe. I'm actually kind of worried people will hate that he's not one of the Nobles of the land or one of the kids at all, but I promise there are plot-reasons things are like this. Also my Ray-voice is insultingly bad. 
> 
> The myth itself was influenced by many myths from many different pantheons, mostly stories about trickster figures. Hermes and Raven in particular. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your wonderful feedback.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is actually a pretty spur-of-the-moment project, for me. It's probably going to go one of two ways:
> 
> Complete kid-fic fluff with some plot, but more concentrated on the fluff  
> or  
> the plot-iest plot to ever plot. 
> 
> But either way it will probably be pretty non-linear. Lots more characters are going to show up, and will be added in the tags as they do.


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